So I'm hanging out at a castle made of skeletons in Missouri, sipping some impressive coffee (none of that Starbucks burnt crap) and listening to two of my friends discuss taking over the world. That's when one of them lets slip that they have built a prototype time machine that actually works, albeit for only short periods of time. They start to argue about paradoxes and "dangerous time-shattering consequences" when I thought of a way to test if it works in a way that would not cause irrepairable damage.

Of course, they were both interested in my plan...at first. They didn't like it because it didn't involve mass casualties or chunks of the planet falling into the sun, but in the end they decided it would work fine as a controlled test.

The concept was easy. I would go visit my friend etouffee and have them publish a node on the website Everything2.com, which everyone with a brain more powerful than an amoeba knows is the website of brilliant, exceptionally good-looking users. I would have etouffee post a node, randomly titled "if we are to be lies, we will be lies of our own making", today, April 3rd, but the laptop would be in the time slipstream and appear to post about a week ago (or so, time travel is not an exact science yet.)

Sure enough, etouffee decided to go along, ignoring the X-39 ray gun blaster I was pointing, and posted the node today.

Amazingly enough, it really worked. The node appeared in the past, even though it was really (honestly) posted today. So now I have to go talk to my other friend, wertperch, and show him how shiny the business end of an X-39 ray gun blaster is and to get him to agree to approve if we are to be lies, we will be lies of our own making for his silly LieQuest 2022.

Moral Disorder.

How does one rate a book? Online, a rating may mean the person enjoyed (or did not enjoy) the story or appreciated (or did not appreciate) the author's craft. It could also mean they thought the protagonist was a big meanie and therefore the book sucks. I once read a poor review of Tom Anderson's Chasing Dean, which I'd rather enjoyed, and found that the reviewer mostly ranted about the author's perceived political agenda, based on the contents of a couple of chapters. The reviewer read a book about hurricane-chasing surfers and verbosely complained that (1) Anderson had positive things to say about New Orleans and (2) he accepts that global warming is real.

Terrible book. Clearly.

So how do I rate? Tricky. I recently completed Margaret Atwood's Moral Disorder, a collection of short fiction that borders on becoming both novel and memoir. How did I arrive at my rating?

If I rated it solely on the author's style, I would give it a five-- Goodreadsspeak for "It was excellent!" The young poet who first drew attention in the 1960s never seems far away, regardless of what Atwood writes. Well, mostly. The Testaments fails in this regard. Personal response? The stories/chapters were uneven. They drifted and left me a little cold. Appropriate for Canlit. Much of it reads like imitation Alice Munro, and not even Atwood gets to be Alice Munro. I would then have to say "I liked it," a three at Goodreads.

Suppose I reflected on its best moments? The collection concludes with "The Boys at the Lab." A compelling, powerful piece, it has the narrator reflecting on her parents' final years, trying to reconstruct the parts of their lives she does not recall or know through old photographs and their own fading memories. When both fail, she turns to fiction. Storytelling shapes us-- but the fictions we believe remain beautiful and dangerous. Their reality is a con.

So, a four. Apparently, I "really liked it!!"

Margaret Atwood (who, in reality, has no reason to care about my opinion of her books, even if she knew them) has made forays into SF, but she's never embraced the label. I doubt we'll ever see her at a science fiction convention.

I, however, look forward to returning to Penguicon this spring, hitting an actual hotel, running real-world panels, and meeting other fans and writers and makers and hackers without the mediation of a screen or the threat of Zoom-bombers. The threat of COVID remains, but its power has been diminished significantly. I've attended this con many times and always appeared on panels, but 2022 will be my first appearance as an actual Convention Guest. I have a reading, a revisiting of my Sub/Urban Folklore presentation, and a handful of panels.

He stole my Zoloft.

I noticed it missing a few days ago, but assumed I misplaced it. Today I got shaky enough to go and finally get a refill, but only after I cleaned out the whole cabinet to see if it had fallen somewhere. Nope. He claims that it was my toddler-- uh huh, right. My toddler climbed up on the counter, reached around all the gummi vitamins and went straight for the generic pill bottle in the back of the medicine bin? Sure. This is after him telling me for a week that I should stop taking it because it's "mind control drugs" and "it's not good for me". No, my dear, it's not good for you because you see my backbone showing now and you're scared.

I was strung out and drank too much coffee and yelled at him. He looked at me and said "There's my girl, you've got your edge back," and smiled coyly to himself.

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